


Inevitability

by kerlin



Category: Alias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerlin/pseuds/kerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitability

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superswank](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=superswank).



> post-ep for "Welcome to Liberty Village"

They discover the little café after a half hour of wandering, fingers tangled together, leaning against each other. To the unknowing observer, they look like they’ve already visited a few cafes and sampled the house wine. To the more astute observer, they are simply giddy.

To the trained eye, they’re also completely aware of their surroundings in a casual way that signals their true skill.

_Le chat rouge_ is on a side street in the Marais and it serves a menu at twelve euros. It is exactly the opposite of Rousseau’s in Nice, which is the majority of its appeal.

Sydney orders the _coq au vin_ and Vaughn the _boeuf bourgignon_. They share a salad, raspberry vinaigrette drizzled over field greens and a thick slice of goat cheese on warm toast. Their fingers are in constant motion, fingertip trailing along forearm, thumb brushed against cheekbone, and their smiles are full of promise.

They speak in Italian and then other tongues, switching languages to follow a phrase that expresses itself better. It becomes a game in itself, and Sydney wins with Urdu.

Dessert is a yogurt parfait with berries for her, and a slice of chocolate galette drizzled with raspberry sauce for him. The food is left half-uneaten as they slip out into the night, leaving a generous tip.

Paris is a city come into its own in the dark, truly the city of lights. Café windows spill warm light and music out to the streets, and in between buildings they can see further still, pinpoints of false stars.

Sydney nearly twists an ankle on a cobblestone, laughs out loud that she has sprinted across muddy fields in spike heels and can’t seem to stay standing when she’s perfectly safe. Perhaps her cavalier assessment of security is a lie, but Vaughn catches her with an arm around the waist and pulls her tightly to him.

The laugh dies on her lips as a light breeze toys with her hair and they are quiet, appreciating the richness of the moment. There’s an atmosphere of intensity curling about them, something they’re well familiar with.

Vaughn leans in and touches his lips to hers; the kiss is light, exploratory, and almost innocent, a direct contradiction to the tension they can feel gathering. Sydney relaxes into it, eyes half-closed, soaking up every detail: his skin warm through the shirt under her palms on his chest, the dark taste of chocolate on her tongue, his fingers light against her ribs.

The wind shifts, or Vaughn does, or maybe she does, or possibly the entire city of Paris does, because as quickly as that everything changes.

Sydney doesn’t even wince when her back slams into the concrete of the building, for she is giving as good as she gets: she drops her hands from Vaughn’s chest to his hips, pulling him close, rocking her hips sinuously and smiling against his lips when he moans into her mouth.

Things are escalating quickly, far too quickly for the half-lit alley, and time stretches like molasses. Vaughn braces her shoulders between his hands and the wall, leaving her mouth to nibble at the smooth skin of her jaw, down to tongue the tendons in her neck.

This leaves Sydney free to gasp his name, even as her hands travel under his shirt and trace the planed muscles of his back. The sound brings them both back to reality and Vaughn rests his forehead against Sydney’s, both of them sucking in ragged lungfuls of air. Their hands meet at stomach level, holding on tightly, drawing balance from each other.

Vaughn laughs, hollowly and not without a sense of the absurd, and shakes his head slowly. He reaches up to tuck a flyaway lock of hair behind her ear, trailing his fingers along her jaw and then returns to holding her hand.

“Yeah,” Sydney mutters abashedly, and can’t keep the foolish grin from her face. “How’s that for spontaneous?”

Vaughn laughs harder and reaches his arms around her for a hug. She responds by reaching up and locking her elbows around his neck, burrowing her face into his neck, still grinning.

He spins her out and around, and for a moment she’s flying and he’s her anchor to the ground. She laughs with him now, as carefree as she has been for months. It’s not real, none of it’s real, but they’ve got these few hours where it doesn’t matter.

When they are still again Vaughn kisses her, light and wickedly promising and then reaches for her hand to pull her after him.

They have about an hour left before the French authorities begin to complain about an unauthorized CIA aircraft taking up space on the Charles de Gaulle tarmac. Sloane has probably already left a few angry voicemails on their cell phones – which are back on the plane – and there will be official reports to file.

When they are in the air, Vaughn tells the pilots they are not to be disturbed unless the plane is about to be shot down. They make love slowly, languorously, and it is punctuated by laughter and smiles as often as gasps and whimpers.

“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Vaughn whispers into the crook of her neck, where his cheek is pillowed against her bare shoulder. He has his left arm tucked in close around her, his right arm doubled up under her shoulder, and he is toying with her hair, sticky against their skin from sweat.

“Hmmm?” Sydney asks, drowsy. She has one arm holding his against her stomach, and is trailing her nails up and down his back, enjoying the way his body shivers against hers when she hits a particularly sensitive spot.

“I had all these big ideas, all these plans,” he confesses, and she tips her head to look him in the eyes. Santa Barbara is what she reads there, and has to fight tears. “It was – somehow, it was going to work out, somehow we wouldn’t be…”

Catching stolen moments in the cargo hold of government plane, stealing said government plane to have dinner together in the first place. The blanks are filled in easily enough.

“You wanted us to be Karen and Dave,” she sums up.

“Yeah.” The admission seems to make him feel guilty, and he looks away from her to the steel arches overhead.

“Hey.” She rolls her shoulder under his head to bring his attention back. “We’re us. And we’re still here. Karen and Dave would never have made it this far.”

There are so many things wrong with this simple statement, but for once she refuses to dwell on them, refuses to give the ghosts any consideration. She’s aware of them and he’s aware of them, but this is between the two of them, and no one else.

He responds by tightening his arm around her stomach and burrowing in close to her neck, dropping a light kiss on her collarbone and sighing.

It isn’t an answer, exactly, but she knows she’s made her point. Vaughn has shown himself to be taciturn about the paths not taken in their relationship, and she doesn’t really blame him. Given time and balance, they will stop looking over their shoulders.

For now, Sydney rests her cheek on the top of Vaughn’s head and closes her eyes to drift off to sleep.


End file.
